Evilangel
Kayla Green, Raul Costa Pic(s)
The air in the plush office was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and a new, primal tension. He moved behind her chair, his presence a silent command that made her breath catch in her throat. His hands, strong and knowing, came to rest on her shoulders, their warmth seeping through the silk of her blouse. A soft, involuntary sigh escaped her lips as his fingers began a slow, deliberate massage, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone. He leaned close, his whisper a hot promise agat the shell of her ear, causing a shiver to cascade down her spine. One hand drifted lower, skimming the curve of her waist before settling possessively on her thigh, the fabric of her skirt whispering agat his palm. Her head fell back agat his chest, eyes fluttering closed as she surrendered to the expert exploration of his touch. The world outside the polished windows blurred into ignificance, the only reality the growing heat between them and the steady, demanding pressure of his body. This was no ordinary interruption to the workday, but a delicious, clandestine ritual that promised a conclusion far more satisfying than any finished report.
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